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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352035">why were you digging, what did you bury</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap'>boom_slap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chapter 2 is... something else, Dirty talk gone wrong, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Grinding, Humor, M/M, Trust Issues, not in that particular order</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:26:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrés overdoes it with the dirty talk; Martín doesn't react all too well to that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa &amp; Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>217</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>you can absolutely blame dashwood for a lot of it, because when I go "ANGST" she goes "YES"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's possible to break someone in many ways - consciously and unconsciously, in a heartbeat or over time. Most people believe it to be cruel, but there's a special kind of breaking, one that's cathartic. </p><p>Andrés does that to Martín; he takes him apart, piece by piece, only to put him back together. He <em> uses </em>him, and Martín says that he loves it, that he needs it. He needs to be fucked until he's nothing but a panting, sobbing mess - further than that, even. </p><p>Andrés does that, glad to indulge in sex that's rough, and dirty, and shameless; an act that lets him dominate completely, that gives him full control, an intoxicating rush of power that comes from the awareness that Martín would let him do <em> anything</em>, because he trusts him completely. Whenever Andrés breaks him, they both know what will come after - soft caresses, and loving words, and so, so much appreciation. They know it and that is why they can indulge. </p><p>"Andrés-... <em> please</em>!"</p><p>"Oh, just how desperate can you get, mm?" Andrés hums, picking up the tempo of his thrusts, his hips snapping forward, letting him push in deep, make sure Martín can really <em> feel it.  </em></p><p>Martín moans, his fingers scratching down Andrés's back; Andrés has been playing with him for the past hour and a half, stretching out the foreplay before he finally started fucking him. </p><p>It's his favourite thing to do. He can make Martín whimper just by kissing him. He can make him hard without even touching him. He can make Martín beg to be allowed to take Andrés' cock in his mouth, as if it were the pinnacle of pleasure. He builds up the tension, brings Martín to the brink of senses and then-</p><p>Then he lets himself go, and it feels glorious. </p><p>"You're so needy," he grits out, his teeth clenched, breath laboured, his hands digging into Martín's hips. "Such a greedy thing, you can't get enough, can you? For how long have you been dreaming about this?" </p><p>Andrés knows the questions are purely rhetorical - at this point, Martín doesn't really have it in him to form coherent sentences anymore.</p><p>Now, Andrés appreciates the things that make humans different from animals - art and science. Pleasuring Martín is a form of art to him. However, Martín also has the amazing capacity - that he himself is probably unaware of - to turn Andrés into an animal, acting on instinct, needing to dominate, to mate, to claim, spurred on by sounds of whimpers and skin slapping against skin, by the feeling of sweat between their bodies, by their heat.</p><p>"You've wanted me so much and you've never even <em> dared </em>to ask for it, no, you preferred to fuck some strangers in bathroom stalls, did you think I've never noticed? I did, you little slut, of course I did."</p><p>It strokes his ego just right; to know that Martín has wanted him for so long, that he's been <em> craving </em>him. And yet, it makes him jealous, too, jealous and possessive, because while Martín has always loved him, there have been other hands on him. </p><p>"Did you think about me? When they were fucking you, when they were using you like a cheap whore, were you thinking about me, imagining me doing this to you? Did you ever scream my name in there, or in the back of a car, or wherever such disgusting encounters take place?"</p><p>Through the haze of his own pleasure, he hears Martín's whimpers as the other man presses himself closer, wrapping both hands around Andrés' neck, pressing his face against his collarbones. He's holding on for dear life while Andrés keeps pounding into him, leaning forward on his elbows for better leverage.</p><p>"Ugh, Martín, what did it feel like? Pathetic, huh?" he lets out a breathless laughter, close to his orgasm. "I know you could imagine me there, I bet you've heard me fucking my wives, didn't you? I bet you've listened, jerking off, fingering yourself, wishing you were a woman under me, wishing you were smaller, more delicate, so that I would want you-" </p><p>Andrés is about to say more. He's about to say how nobody until Martín fit against him and into his arms so perfectly, that no one before has given him as much as Martín does, but as he reaches for Martín's cock, he discovers that it's not hard anymore. </p><p>Martín didn't come, but he isn't hard anymore and as Andrés stops thrusting into him, he's still crying against his neck, still shaking. Not from pleasure, Andrés realizes.</p><p>It feels like accidentally skipping a step while walking down the stairs; his stomach drops. It's a bucket of ice cold water running down his back as his muscles tense up with the realization that he's messed up. He was supposed to take care of Martín, to <em> love </em>him and please him, and by the looks of it, he's messed up horribly.</p><p>When he stops moving completely and tries to pull out, Martín lets out a gasp that sounds more like a sob, and actually clings tighter to him, hiding his face in the crook of Andrés neck, his knees pressing to Andrés' sides almost painfully. </p><p>"No, you- go on, go on," he manages to say. </p><p>"You're not feeling good," Andrés states. His voice sounds hollow, but that's because he's… he's shocked. He's shocked because how could he not notice. </p><p>"It doesn't matter," Martín rasps and starts pressing feverish kisses to Andrés' skin. "It doesn't- I'm sorry, I can take it, okay? I can take it, you just- just keep going, just-" </p><p>He pauses. His fingers are digging into Andrés' back. He's shaking <em> so much.  </em></p><p>"I'm sorry, it's nothing," Martín whines; his voice is way too high, way too choked for Andrés to even consider believing him. "I'll be good for you…"</p><p>"Martín," Andrés can't really move with the way Martín is clinging to him, but he manages to put one hand at the back of his head. "We have a safeword for that, why the fuck didn't you use it?" </p><p>"It's nothing," he says again, quietly. His breath is coming in small, sharp intakes and Andrés <em> hates </em> it. He hates this whole situation so much, he's angry at himself for not noticing, and at Martín for not fucking <em> saying </em>anything. </p><p>Martín is still babbling apologies into his neck and Andrés has had enough of it, honestly. He reaches behind to grasp at one of Martín's hands so that he can pin it to the bed. He does the same with the other one and finally, pulls away to be able to look at him. </p><p>Martín is a mess, and not the good kind. His whole face is wet from tears, flushed from stifling the sobs, his lips are quivering and his eyes are wide; normally, the sight would arouse Andrés, because he likes having Martín at his mercy, he likes breaking him. This is not the right kind of breaking, however; no, the thing that looks up at him is long broken, something ugly coming to the surface, something that was long hidden, that Andrés haven't seen yet.</p><p>Martín looks scared. </p><p>Andrés lets go of his wrists, puts one hand on his hip, instead, and pulls out, gently, his own cock softening. </p><p>Martín makes a choked, keening sound at that. </p><p>"Shh," Andrés murmurs, composing himself carefully; he knows he needs to take care of Martín, first. He puts a hand to his cheek and strokes it slowly, but is surprised to see Martín shaking his head at that, tears welling up in his eyes once again. </p><p>"No," he says, "please, no."</p><p>Now, Andrés is seriously worried.</p><p>"<em>No </em> what, <em> cariño</em>? <em> Que pasa?</em>" he whispers, leaning in to look into his eyes. He takes Martín's face properly in his hands. "Hey. <em> Hey. </em>Tell me what's wrong."</p><p>"<em>Paris.</em>"</p><p>It's hard to tell which one of them is more shocked as the word - the safeword - leaves Martín's mouth. They just stare at each other with wide eyes until Andrés remembers himself and, with much pain, pulls his hands away. </p><p>He sits back on his heels, watching as Martín moves away, too, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees, not meeting Andrés' gaze, tears running down his face. </p><p>Suddenly, there's a divide between them, a distance, a chasm that has never been there before. Andrés finds himself feeling… helpless, the sentiment completely alien to him, new and terrifying. </p><p>He considers his options - what Martín begged him to do is not up for any discussion, there's no way. He can't touch him, not after hearing the safeword while he's tried to comfort him, which <em> doesn't make sense</em>, but he can't really do anything about it. </p><p>Finally, he definitely can't leave Martín alone, not when he's like that, not when there's definitely something awful happening to him, making him look so small, so fragile, so <em> broken.  </em></p><p>Andrés gets to his feet and picks up their clothes, discarded all over the floor. He puts on his pants and his shirt, although he leaves it open. Then, he sets Martín's clothes in front of him. </p><p>"I'm going to go downstairs, make some tea and something to eat. Will you go with me?" </p><p>Martín nods, breathes out a small <em> yes </em> as he starts getting dressed. Andrés aches to touch him, to hold him, to do everything they always do after sex, when everything is alright; he always keeps Martín close and tells him he's wonderful, lovely, perfect, calls him <em> cariño, tresoro, querido.  </em></p><p>He manages to stop himself, though, because he can't begin to understand what's wrong, why, for the first time ever, Martín denied his affections while clearly needing them. </p><p> </p><p>In the kitchen, Martín sits at the counter as Andrés turns his back to him, preparing tea. He chooses chamomile and lavender, mixes them together, hopes to soothe Martín's nerves. The sun is going down and it's getting colder, and as he glances out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Martín is cold. Still, he cannot hold him; tea will have to do. </p><p>He looks through the cabinets, ponders on the choice of food - decides on dark chocolate, finally. Martín doesn't like sweets all that much, but dark chocolate is just on the right side of bittersweet, and Andrés knows that cocoa helps release endorphins and- well, he's desperate enough to try anything at this point. </p><p>He sets it all on the counter and leans against it. They munch on the chocolate and sip on the tea in complete silence, the whole house is silent, there's only the sound of waves crashing against the shore outside. Martín keeps his gaze down and Andrés watches him closely, worriedly. </p><p>At the very least, he can sense that Martín has calmed down. He's more relaxed, even if he looks sad, defeated, resigned. He's absent-mindedly nibbling at his nails, but his jaw is not tense, so that's a good sign. </p><p>Andrés would never compare neither himself nor Martín to a dog, not really, but Marsella once told him that animals can sense emotions perfectly. That upon seeing their owners in distress, they offer comfort. </p><p>Andrés would never compare neither himself nor Martín to a dog, but their emotions always resonate between them, they flow and they blend together. What happened earlier was extremely rare; usually, Andrés can tell what's happening to Martín by the smallest change in his breathing, and Martín is the same when it comes to Andrés. </p><p>Andrés would never compare neither himself nor Martín to a dog, but right now, he would gladly put his head in Martín's lap, wrap his arms around his waist and simply let the warmth comfort them both. </p><p>He doesn't, though, because he also feels that once he's ready, Martín <em> will </em> talk to him - he's Andrés', after all, and not just in the most twisted, possessive meaning of it. He's Andrés', but Andrés is his, too. <em> Soulmates. </em>There's no better word to describe it, really. </p><p>The Theosophical Society has come up with the concept of an aura, a manifestation of health and emotions - well, if that were true, theirs would be one, shifting and changing around them, but never tearing. </p><p>In Eastern Asia, people imagine fate as a red thread between two human beings, joining them forever; it's often associated with marriage and yet, Andrés could never imagine it between himself and either one of his wives. </p><p>With Martín, it seems obvious.</p><p>He's tried tearing it once, hurting them both. It's unbreakable; stronger than any human will, be it Andrés' or anyone else's.</p><p>That's why he's patient, and he waits, and he tries not to mind the distance even as his fingertips are tingling with the need to touch; not want, <em> need. </em></p><p>Still, he wraps his hands around the cup of tea and waits. </p><p> </p><p>They move outside, later, to the two rattan armchairs. The breeze is cold, so Andrés hands Martín a blanket before he starts lighting the candles around them.</p><p>It's nice. Andrés may love adrenaline, and excitement, and violence, and madness, but this, he loves too. The soft light reminds him of nights spent in the monastery, before they almost lost it all to have it all. There's no music, but the sounds of the ocean and the rustling of tree leaves are enough. It's calm. Serene, even.</p><p>Andrés sits down and relaxes into the armchair, looking towards the water even though he cannot see it in the dark. He marvels at his luck, at how everything has worked out. Well. <em> Almost </em>everything, apparently. </p><p>He heaves a sigh and rubs his hands up and down his arms. </p><p>"Are you cold?" </p><p>Martín's voice surprises him, because he hasn't been speaking for the past, what now, two hours? The sound is soft, quiet. A little bit raspy. </p><p>"Mm, yes. I'm going to get myself a blanket, too. Do you want more t- <em>oh</em>, alright," he laughs, because Martín has gotten up and walked over to him, and slipped into his lap.</p><p>Andrés wraps his arms around him as Martín covers them both with the blanket, tucking his head under Andrés' chin. </p><p>"I'm sorry," he mutters and Andrés tuts, his fingers finding their way into Martín's hair. He thinks for moment before answering.</p><p>"What for?" </p><p>Martín presses closer and doesn't say anything. Andrés strokes his hair, presses a kiss to the top of his head. It feels like holding the whole world in his arms, a whole world that's full of beauty, but dangerous, too, and confusing.</p><p>"<em>Cariño,</em>" he says and Martín sniffles, and suddenly, Andrés understands. He understands and it hits him like a wave, and he inhales sharply.</p><p>"You don't believe me," he whispers and feels how Martín shakes his head, the movement minuscule, but definitely there. </p><p>His talk earlier, it reminded Martín of <em> years </em> of loneliness, of heartbreak, of hopelessness. <em> Of course </em> it did. For Andrés, it's easy to forget; it took him a very long time to realize that he wanted this, that loving a man - not any man, <em> Martín </em> - was logical, really, that he would never find anything similar with any woman. It took him so long to realize that they were meant to be, that he loved Martín in every way that could be described and <em> more</em>; to realize that he'd wasted so much time looking for love elsewhere, while Martín waited.</p><p>No, not waited, because waiting would suggest that there was hope and Andrés knew, fuck, he <em> knew </em>that Martín had none and yet, he decided to stay. His love has always been despite everything, pure and not asking for anything in return. </p><p>What Andrés hadn't realized, what he's understanding only now, is how little Martín thinks of himself - he thinks that he can only be useful, not loved unconditionally. He thinks he doesn't deserve it, because he's been convinced of it for years. He thinks that-</p><p>He thinks that Andrés is going to leave him, like he once did. </p><p>Oh, <em> of course </em> he does, poor little thing, poor, scared, hurt Martín. <em> Broken, </em>not by pleasure, but by pain, by feeling unwanted, unloved, loveless, worthless. All of that, because Andrés has failed him. </p><p>"Listen to me," he whispers into Martín's ear. "Will you listen to me now?" </p><p>It feels like there's a fever burning inside of him. Martín nods, and Andrés carefully moves him aside so he can slip from under him and onto the floor of the terrace, kneeling down. Martín stares at him as he takes his hands and starts kissing them. It's an apology. It's a <em> thank you.  </em></p><p>"I'm never letting you go, never, do you understand that? You have to forgive me, you <em> have to </em>believe me, you're allowed to love me, Martín, and I love you just as much."</p><p>Andrés is a very proud man. He's only knelt down before someone five times before and each time, it was a spectacle. This time, it feels true, even though for once, he doesn't have a ring. </p><p>"I want you honest, and hurt, and angry, and bitter, and crying, and broken. I want all of it because I can make it better. I <em> will </em> make it better, but don't you ever, <em> ever </em> push me away. Don't you <em> dare.</em>"</p><p>He knows it's not romantic <em> per se</em>, and probably, any sane person would consider it a threat. However, Andrés is not sane, and neither is Martín, who falls into his arms after hearing this, his weight heavy and perfect.</p><p>"So, if you ever mention your ex-wives again, am I allowed to punch you in the face?" he asks, his voice wet, and Andrés laughs wholeheartedly. </p><p>"Don't get too ahead of yourself there. We're civilised, after all."</p><p>Martín pulls back just enough to grin at him, and Andrés wipes away the tears from his cheeks.</p><p>"Next time when you break," he says, "trust me and let me make it better."</p><p>Martín looks at him for a long moment, open and vulnerable, and fragile. Finally, he nods.</p><p>"I will."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so. dashwood challenged me to come up with a situation where Andrés is the one who has to use his safeword. <br/>enjoy this absolute trainwreck!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> I should pick a safeword, too, </em> Andrés had said and he smiled smugly, a mirthful glint in his eyes, and Martín laughed because yeah, sure, <em> as if.  </em></p><p>To be honest, Martín almost said <em> eh, fuck that </em>when Andrés insisted on him choosing a safeword. He knows he can take anything for and from Andrés, both pleasure and pain. The fact that he would do anything for him is as obvious as breathing, something vital, and yet going by unnoticed most of the time. It's in his very being to comply, to obey, to grant each and every one of Andrés' wishes. </p><p>Even when they fight, when they bicker or argue, it always happens upon Andrés' unvoiced approval. Martín can <em> sense </em> it and he would never abuse it; in the end, if there's even a tiny bit of true anger or disappointment in Andrés' tone or gaze, Martín is one hundred percent ready to drop to his knees and <em> please, </em>and soothe, and beg. He likes it. He likes the power Andrés has over him and he doesn't fight him; most of the time, it makes him feel safe. </p><p>Now, it's almost all of the time, thanks to that one instance where he's panicked.</p><p>Well, who the fuck wouldn't have? </p><p>Martín can take pain and pleasure, but he can't fucking <em> deal </em>with intimacy. The very idea that Andrés really loves him, and only him, that he cares for him so much, that he wants him, not just for now, but forever- Yeah, that's- yeah, no, that's a lot, thanks. </p><p>Martín isn't used to affection, while Andrés is - always has been - very affectionate. He always seems to be touching Martín, holding him, calling him pet names and sometimes, Martín struggles to return the gestures. </p><p>What he <em> can </em>do, though, is to give himself over, to get sexual. Riling Andrés up is not an easy task, he's always very composed, but it's possible to make him- well, not lose control, but to get him… worked up. </p><p>"<em>Martín</em>," Andrés growls; it's a warning, it's his way of saying that if Martín keeps grinding against him like that, he's going to end up face down on the bed with Andrés tearing the clothes off of him. Frankly, Martín can't wait - he loves it when Andrés does that, when he's insistent and yes, almost brutal, even. It's a reminder that Andrés <em> wants </em>him, that he desires him. </p><p>For now, however, Martín is enjoying himself far too much. Andrés is sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands as Martín straddles him, moving his hips in circles, grinning with barely contained joy as he watches Andrés' nostrils flare when he takes a deeper breath. </p><p>"I could come just like that," Martín says, because it's <em> true</em>, even though he's only taken off his shirt, his dick painfully hard against his jeans. Andrés is fully clothed, still, which makes it all the hotter.</p><p>He's staring at Martín, his eyes narrowed, gaze burning under the long, beautiful, dark lashes. Everything about Andrés is dark, and handsome, and dangerous, and sharp. It's driving Martín crazy on a daily basis. </p><p>"Andrés, <em> fuuuck,</em>" he throws his head back and moans, exaggerates it a little bit, or rather - doesn't hold back from voicing everything that he's feeling. He grabs above Andrés' knee for leverage as he arches his back, showing off his chest, his neck; everything. </p><p>He's feeling <em> good</em>, simple as that. He's feeling good, and confident, and wanted. Andrés groans; it's a quiet sound, but it's deep and it vibrates right through Martín.</p><p>"I love you so much, you can't <em> imagine</em>," Martín says. He leans forward again, doesn't stop moving his hips as he starts kissing Andrés; he presses kisses all over his lips, to the corner, to the upper lip, the lower, the other corner, his cupid's bow, he moves up and to the side of his nose; then, he opens his mouth and drags his lips from Andrés' jaw all the way up to his temple. </p><p>It's nothing less than worship. Martín pulls away to look at him and Andrés is staring, his eyes ablaze. Martín laughs; he's happy, God, he's so happy. He puts his hands to Andrés' collar, puts his lips to his neck and works them downwards as he starts unbuttoning Andrés' shirt, kissing every bit of newly exposed skin.</p><p>He goes back to Andrés' jawline when his lips can't reach lower down his chest; he finishes unbuttoning the shirt and pushes it off, and kisses Andrés' shoulders, too, before nuzzling his neck, putting one hand to the other side of it, stroking with his thumb.</p><p>He's not as good at talking as Andrés is, but there aren't many words that Martín needs to express his devotion. </p><p>"Andrés," he breathes against his skin. That's his confession, his mantra, his prayer. "Andrés, <em> Andrés</em>…" </p><p>"<em>Martín.</em>"</p><p>Another warning; there are hands on him now, too. Andrés has grabbed his hips hard, has leaned in closer; Martín has to hold on to his neck as they move, otherwise, he would fall. He loves it. </p><p>They find their balance and Martín runs his fingers through Andrés' hair, strokes at the back of his neck with his thumbs; he leans down for another kiss, then, trying to pour all of his adoration into it; it feels divine. This must be what the sky felt like for Icarus. </p><p>Andrés' arms wrap themselves around Martín's waist. Martín breaks the kiss and straightens up, and looks down at Andrés. </p><p>There's something in his gaze, something that Martín can't quite place, can't quite catch, but his eyes are wide now, not like before. He looks and looks, and he doesn't say anything, so Martín takes his face in his hands. He smiles; he's smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt because this, all of this, is just perfect, because he's feeling so <em> good.  </em></p><p>"<em>Barcelona.</em>"</p><p>Martín has read somewhere that upon decapitation, for example by a guillotine, the eyes in the human head are left still blinking for a moment, as if the head was unable to realize that it's been detached from the body, from the life-giving heart. That's what it feels like to hear Andrés' safeword; Martín is so shocked that for the first few seconds, the smile doesn't leave his face, even as his eyes widen. </p><p>"Wha..?" he manages as Andrés lets go of him and flops back onto the bed, putting an arm over his eyes. </p><p>The fact that he can't see his face makes Martín all the more nervous. He's never imagined a scenario like that, he thought it impossible, and now-</p><p>He has no idea what to do. He doesn't know if he should run and hide, or beg for forgiveness, if he should offer comfort, but then again- what comfort, comfort from what? Everything was fine just a moment ago. </p><p>He's fucked up somehow. He must have fucked up. He should <em> know </em>what was it that he's done, but he doesn't, and he feels his throat tighten in fear, his heart pounding, because surely, Andrés is either angry or… hurt? Oh fuck, is he hurt? No human is able to hurt Andrés, and certainly not Martín. </p><p>He's fucking <em> frightened </em>as he slides off of Andrés' lap and stands on shaky legs next to the bed, completely lost. Now <em>he</em> needs his fucking safeword, but he's not sure if it works that way. </p><p>"Andrés..?" </p><p>Andrés doesn't say anything, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he pats his chest. Martín understands; he breathes a sigh of relief and jumps onto the bed, lies down next to Andrés and puts his head on his chest. </p><p>Andrés' hand finds the nape of his neck and rests there, warm and steady. </p><p>"It's alright," he murmurs. "It's alright."</p><p>Martín doesn't dare speak; he's just glad that Andrés didn't tell him to leave, even though he still doesn't understand what's wrong. </p><p>They stay like that for so long that Martín, despite his worry, dozes off at some point. </p><p> </p><p>When he wakes up, he's alone on the bed. It takes him a moment to remember what has happened, but when he does, he immediately sits up, looking around. Andrés isn't there. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Martín scrambles up to his feet and puts his shirt back on, buttoning it up as he walks out of their - <em> their, </em>it still amazes him, he hopes it'll continue to amaze him for the rest of his life - bedroom. </p><p>Running down the stairs, he takes two steps at a time; he stops at the bottom, because he hears music. </p><p>He recognizes <em> La vie en rose </em> and thinks that it's a weirdly romantic choice considering the previous events of the evening. </p><p>"Andrés?" he calls. </p><p>"Here!" answers a voice from the kitchen and as Martín walks in, he's met with one of his favourite sights in the world - Andrés, of course, with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, wearing an apron, standing by the oven with a bottle of insanely expensive wine in his hands.</p><p>"What- are you pulling an <em> aftercare </em> on me?" Martín frowns, putting his hands on his hips. "<em>You </em>were the one who used the safeword. Are you alright?" </p><p>"Perfectly fine, <em> querido</em>. Take a seat."</p><p>Martín does. What else can he do? He's dumbfounded, though. <em> None </em>of this is making any sense. The table is beautifully set. There are flowers and candles, and linen napkins. Édith Piaf is wailing out another song and he stares as Andrés pours him red wine. </p><p>"What-" he tries again, but Andrés puts the bottle on the table and leans down, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. It's rather chaste for their standards, very loving, but Martín feels a whine in the back of his throat despite that, or maybe because of that. He closes his eyes. </p><p>When he opens them, Andrés is already pulling away and turning back to the oven.</p><p>A moment later, Martín is served a beautiful slice of Beef Wellington, with steamed baby carrots and corn salad.</p><p>He's still- not confused, he's beyond the point of confusion. There's even a part of him that fears that this is a breakup dinner, something that Andrés has already pulled on two out of five of his ex-wives. The food is amazing, but it barely passes past the lump in Martín's throat. </p><p>He knows he must have fucked up greatly, why else would Andrés use a safeword? Maybe all of this is some great goodbye and by the end of it, when the last drop of wine is dried from the glass, Andrés is going to say: <em> Well, it's been nice, Martín, but there's nothing more I could give you. You've disappointed me one too many times and therefore, it's in the best interest of us both if we part ways now. Don't forget your toothbrush.  </em></p><p>"Martín?" </p><p>He flinches violently and looks up; by the way Andrés' silhouette is blurred, he judges that he must be having tears in his eyes already. Great. Fucking- <em> great. </em></p><p>"Are you dumping me?"</p><p>The question sounds more like a whimper. Amazing. Wonderful job, Martín, eleven out of ten on the scale of how pathetic a human being can be.</p><p>"Oh, <em> cariño,</em>" Andrés gets up from his chair and takes Martín's hands in his to pull him up to his feet. "Are you doubting me again?" </p><p>Martín swallows his tears and takes a deep breath before answering. </p><p>"You used your safeword. I must have done something wrong."</p><p>"You didn't. You were perfect."</p><p>Martín blinks a few times. He stares, searches Andrés' face- and sees nothing but love. </p><p>"Then why..?" </p><p>"Because I was about to cry."</p><p>He's being perfectly calm. Martín, for his part, wants to scream. </p><p>"Why would you cry? I knew I've done something, fuck, but to make you- Andrés!" </p><p>He's getting impatient now, desperate, and Andrés, <em> of course</em>, laughs, pulling him into his arms, folding his hands on the small of Martín's back.</p><p>"You were looking so beautiful, so <em> happy</em>, you were being so amazing. And for a moment, I thought about how I almost lost you, how close I was to not having all of this. I thought about how you've stayed by my side, and then came back to me, after all, through it all, despite everything."</p><p>Martín stares. <em> Are you fucking kidding me, </em>he wants to ask, but he remembers his manners. </p><p>"I beg your fucking pardon?" </p><p>Andrés only raises his eyebrows at him. Martín steps away, suddenly <em> fuming.  </em></p><p>"You- used your safeword, made me think I've fucked up, just because you wanted to <em> stop yourself from crying</em>?! And not even out of pain, you just got emotional and you didn't-!"</p><p>Great, now he's yelling. Whatever. He has the right to. </p><p>"It would have ruined the mood," Andrés states, deadpan. </p><p>"I almost had a heart attack! Multiple heart attacks!" </p><p>"Your trust issues-" </p><p>"<em>My </em>trust issues?!" Martín is on the verge of hysteria, really. It's a miracle he hasn't broken anything yet. </p><p>Andrés tuts, clearly offended, and crosses his arms over his chest. </p><p>"I've prepared this amazing dinner for you, to let you know that everything is alright, better than alright, even. And I've said, I've explicitly stated that it was alright, too. I wanted to show you how much I love and cherish you, and here you are, thinking that I've done this to abandon you. Have you forgotten what I've said? I'm never letting you go. Really, Martín, what an unnecessary outburst."</p><p>Martín can't believe his ears. He's about to scream again, but instead, he finds himself laughing, a little desperately, sure, but still. <em> That man. </em> That amazing, astonishing, complete <em> madman. </em> That <em> idiot. </em>Martín loves him so much. </p><p>Andrés shrugs, spreading out his arms.</p><p>"I used the safeword as a pause button, because I was getting overwhelmed. Not <em> negatively</em>, but we've never stated that the emotions overwhelming us had to be negative, have we now?" </p><p>Martín steps closer to him, shaking his head. He wraps his arms around Andrés' neck and kisses him, still shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Andrés grins into the kiss. </p><p>"You may have overreacted there, <em> cariño</em>. Don't worry, I forgive you."</p><p>"Asshole," Martín mutters into his mouth. He kisses him again and then, rubs their noses together. He's so relieved that he forgets about any reservations he may have had about affection. </p><p>He laughs out loud again when Andrés grabs the edge of the tablecloth and pulls it down, along with everything that was on it; it all crashes to the floor and Andrés hauls Martín up and onto the table, standing in between his legs. He takes his face in his hands and kisses him breathless. </p><p>"I believe," he hums against his lips, "that I owe you something. Do you happen to remember where were we, <em> querido</em>?" </p><p>He's insane. Andrés is absolutely insane. </p><p>"As long as you don't stop even if you feel like sobbing," Martín teases and earns a bite to his bottom lips. He hisses at that, right before diving in for another kiss.</p><p>It's messy, and perfect, and almost too much, and never enough. Just as they are. </p>
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